


Prison Blues

by buttheyrebrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Prison Sex, alternative universe, not really graphical but the situation is there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttheyrebrothers/pseuds/buttheyrebrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is living on the road, hunting on his own ever since his dad died ten years ago. </p><p>He lands in prison after a rookie mistake.<br/>He will probably die behind those bars.<br/>He is mostly fine with it.</p><p>Until the new inmate arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New friends, old foes

**Author's Note:**

> This all started with a gif set of hot prison sex. I wanted to write just that.
> 
> Instead, my muse ran away with the idea and after 2.5k words there was still no sex. But I promise they'll get there ;)

There are some general truths in life Dean has learned by now. Vampires need beheading, not stabbing with a toothpick. Dream can go up in flames so you shouldn’t have any. People will leave you; there is no use for attachments. Being in jail is not something you get used to, nothing that ever starts to feel normal.

But even if Dean still feels trapped, still misses being a free man on the road in his baby, he tries to believe that he has learned to live with the fact that he’ll probably die behind these bars. And it has at least become easier over the months he’s spent here. The other inmates have learned not to mess with him and they even respect him. Mostly. He knows how to get his hands on cigarettes and sometimes alcohol. That alone helps his status among those men a lot. And for those who need some extra persuasion, he still knows how to deal some mean punches.

To the surprise of exactly no one, his looks have been giving him the most trouble. He had to break more than one nose (and the occasional hand) before those guys got it in their thick and ugly heads. Despite his cock-sucking lips he would not go on his knees for any of them.

He still got his rocks off now and then, his looks are good for some things, but it’s mostly hand or blowjobs. If there is sex, he makes sure to top. If one of these guys hears of him bottoming, he will have to break more than some limbs to get the message across that he is no one’s bitch.

So, Dean has learned to adapt, has his routine and all in all life in prison is, if not pleasant, than at least smooth sailing. That is, until the new guy is admitted.

Sam Swesson.

Funnily enough a law student, if the rumors are true - and they usually are. Supposed to have killed his girlfriend and then burning down their apartment to hide the evidence.

Only, when Dean sees this Swesson for the first time he has a hard time believing that. Not that this guy doesn’t look like he could hold his ground. That’s not it.

He is tall, like _really_ tall, at least 6’4’’, maybe even 6’5’’. His shoulders are broad where his waist is small. Dean can’t be sure, because those jumpsuits are fucking potato bags, but he would bet those endless legs pack some serious muscles, too.

Everything on this guy seems a bit too big, his hands, his feet, his pointy nose. And even if there is no way of knowing, Dean suspects even his smile. He would like to see it. And that’s a dangerous thought right there.

The thing is, for all the physical strength and hard lines he can see, the hazel eyes that meet his in the hallway in passing are _soft_. And so sad. There is grief behind them, and just like that Dean is sure that Sam Wesson might be a lot of things, but he is not a murderer.

This leaves him with one question. If Sam hasn’t killed his girlfriend, who had? Not that he should care, he has his own share of trouble to deal with. It’s not like he is here for the right reasons either, though luck big guy. But whenever he tries to forget about it, his eyes will find Wesson, hunched over himself in some corner like a wounded animal. He is so obviously crippled by grieve that even the other inmates avoid him for now. It would be like kicking a puppy, a sick one even, and that’s something those guys for all their faults won’t do. Not yet at least. It hurts to look at him and the sight tucks at something inside Dean’s chest that he recognizes as sympathy.

After all, he knows how it feels to lose someone you love.

* * *

 

So he decides to treat this like any other case he and his father have investigated over the years. Something is fishy and he wants to know what. Simple as that. It has nothing to do with soulful eyes, in a face that is far too young to look so drawn.

He guesses the best way to go would be to just talk to the only witness he knows. Sam.

The only times he can approach him are during meals and when they are on the prison yard. Because all tables are usually full and too many ears around during lunch times, he chooses their afternoon time on the yard. Sam usually sits by himself, too big to be messed with just yet. They’re still seizing him up. Dean knows with a pretty face like his it won’t be long until he’ll be approached. The idea doesn’t sit well with Dean, but he ignores the thought for now.

Dean flops himself down opposite of Sam, body language open and with what he hopes is a friendly smile on his face.

“So, Sammy… how’d a nice boy like you end up in a place like this?”

Startled eyes land on him and he again marvels at the myriad of colors he can see in them. They are slightly slanted like a fox’ and give his face an earnest expression. It’s a pity that his generous mouth is pulled into a taut line instead of a smile. But then again, there’s not a lot to smile about.

“What does it matter to you? I bet the gossip mill has already spread the news. Who cares what I have to say:” His tone is bitter, almost angry; but the line of his shoulders speaks of defeat.

Dean feels sympathy well up again, the strong urge to make it better. This guy could be the victim of something supernatural and he is not here long enough to forget what has kept him going all these years. Saving people, hunting things.

“Maybe I don’t believe everything I’m told. Maybe I know a thing or two about deceiving impressions. Maybe I want to hear your version.” Dean tries to put as much sincerity in it as he can muster. He needs Sam to believe him. More than that, he wants him to trust Dean.

“But _why_? I mean, come one, you don’t even know me, so why the small talk?” Law boy seems to be of the more skeptical variety. Okay he could deal with that, he just makes up some lie about seizing up the newbie or something like that.

“Because I want to help you. I’m pretty sure you haven’t murdered your girlfriend and you don’t belong here, Sammy. I just wanna help.”

Okay, not what he had wanted to say, but it seems to be exactly the right thing. Sam’s eyes are big and disbelieving, but there is something that looks a lot like hope, too.

“Come on, man. I swear, I won’t laugh at you, or tell you you’re nuts. Something is not right with the story they’re telling here. Tell me what _really_ happened.”

And so Sam does.

* * *

From the sounds of it, something supernatural caused the death of Jessica Moore, student at Stanford and Sam’s girlfriend of two years.

That’s not what has Dean shaking though. The way she died – sliced open and burning on the ceiling – is not new to Dean and that is what makes his insides turn to ice. Another woman has died the same way over two decades ago.

His mum.

Sam doesn’t know and he won’t change that. Dean tells himself it is to spare Sam from more gruesome stories, but the truth is, even after 20 years he can’t talk about that night. Not even to his dad, who had died 12 years later on a hunt. Sam also doesn’t need to know that Dean had become an orphan with 16 years. There is nothing to tell about how he had to learn to take care of himself, how he tried to bury the pain under whiskey and denial. The kid doesn’t need to know about how Dean has spent most of his life with hunting, hustling and meaningless sex. The only things he’s good at.

The FBI had him on their wanted list for months, one too many crime scenes he has been seen at. One small mistake was all they needed to get him in the end. They pinned more than one murder on him, credit fraud, impersonating federal agents, etc. The list is longer than the one with his failures, so he can’t even be glad they no longer have the death penalty here. He will die in this stinking hole anyway.

But he won’t cry on this poor guy’s shoulder about all that. He hasn’t talked to anyone about something more personal than his food order in years and he likes to keep it that way.

They’re not able to finish their talk that day, yard breaks being only an hour, but they search each other out over the next days. Sam to learn more about the things Dean knows since he was a little and Dean to make sure law boy is doing okay. They fall into an easy routine from there, breakfasts spent in silence, nursing coffee and hating life. More often than not they work at the laundry or get assigned to the maintenance work together. If they both have the second shift they use the gym together or hang out in the recreation yard to talk.

Dean finds himself missing Sam when their schedules don’t overlap. He also starts opening up to those soft eyes and Sam’s earnest expression more and more over the next months. The thought scares him. His not pouring out his soul or anything but the fact that he talks about himself at all is nothing short of a miracle. Sam’s voice must be magical. Dean feels himself drawn to it, hypnotized by the richness and warmth and utterly helpless at times.

And then Sam is transferred to Dean’s cell.

The inmate he roomed before was getting a bit too handsy, and after politely telling him no more than once fist had start flying. Sam’s blue eye and Ricky’s record of sexual harassment worked towards Sam’s favor and he was transferred without any penalties.

Dean is not sure how to feel about having Sam so close. Falling for him would be the stupidest thing Dean could do, so of course he ends up doing exactly that. His sense of self-preservation has always been a bit skewed.

But it’s not all bad, because these feelings rekindle other urges inside of him. Suddenly, he doesn’t want to roll over and stay here until he’s rotting in the ground. He wants to get out, with Sam, and find this son of a bitch who took his mum and Sam’s girlfriend.

He wants to fight.  


A fight comes to him a few weeks later and different than he thought.

He knows what he’s feeling for Sam, has known for a while, but he is pretty clueless when it comes to Sam’s feelings for him. Sure, they spend as much time together as is possible, given that they are in prison, plus they see each other in the mornings and at night because they bunk together.

Usually Dean would long have made a move, would have drawn Sam into his bed with practiced ease. Only, with Sam all his moves seem cheap and nothing he wants to use on the other man. He wants Sam to want Dean, the hunter, the broken man who needed weeks to get through withdrawal and still has nightmares more often than not.

He’s contemplating ways to approach Sam, to breach the topic of _feelings_ and Jesus Christ he can’t do this.  Sam just lost his girlfriend, and three months are not enough to get over something like that. Besides, he’s probably straight anyway, has never given any sign that indicated otherwise. And if his gaze lingered on Dean sometimes it was probably more wishful thinking than anything else.

Deep in thoughts, he doesn’t hear the two men sneaking up on him until it’s too late. They drag him behind some shelf in the laundry room before he can even make a sound. One is holding his arms and the other is pressing his hand over Dean’s mouth to keep him from calling for help.

 _Shit_.

“Well, well, well. Where’s your boyfriend, pretty boy? He should look better after his things if he doesn’t want someone else to play with them.” There is a hand on his ass and his heart starts to beat rapidly in his chest. “If you’re nice, he gets it back in one piece, understood?”

Before the hand at his ass can get any further an honest-to-god growl can be heard and the presence at his back disappears.

The guy who’s keeping him quiet is too surprised by the proceedings to present much of a fight, so he goes down easily when Dean hits him square in the jaw.

Sam is busy beating on the other guy, whose face is already bloody. He needs to be stopped, before he gets in some serious trouble. They could take him in an isolation cell, away from Dean, unreachable.

He puts his hand on Sam’s arm, careful as to not startle the taller man. “Hey, big guy. That’s enough. I think they got the message.”

It seems to bring Sam back and big, furious eyes snap to his face. Only, underneath all that rage Dean can see how scared he is. Scared for Dean. The thought settles in his stomach, warm and heavy with something he doesn’t want to name.

“Are you okay, Dean? Did they hurt you?” his voice is strong, but Dean detects the slightest tremor in it.

“I’m good, Sammy. Perfect timing. Now let him go, I’m sure he won’t try this shit again. Don’t ya, Mike?”

Before Mike can say anything, he is lifted from the ground by two strong hands.

“Listen Mike, because I’m only going to say this once. If you ever touch what’s mine again, I will break all 270 bones in your body. Every.single.one. Are we clear?”

The _yes_ that comes out of Mike’s mouth sounds nasal, the broken nose makes it hard to breathe apparently. Dean doesn’t feel sorry for him.

“Who is the only one allowed to touch Dean?” Sam asks again and Dean feels himself shivering.

“N’ou. Only n’ou.”

Sam let’s go of the other man, who stumbles briefly before catching himself.

“Dean Winchester is mine. And don’t you and your buddies ever forget that.”

Dean has no idea where the sweet and soft young man has gone, but this version of him does things to Dean. Heat is pooling low in his stomach and his heart is beating eratically for different reasons. He’s still shaken from the attack though, so he just touches Sam’s arm again when the two other man have scurried off.

“Thanks man, I –“. He doesn’t get farther before 6’5 of muscles are in his arms, holding him so tight he is worried for his rips.

“I’m sorry man, I didn’t want to go all caveman on them, but I didn’t know what to do, please, I’m sorry…”

Ahh there he is.

Dean hasn’t even noticed when he had started stroking Sam’s back, but the younger man calms down considerably. He shushes Sam a few more times until the pleading stops. He doesn’t lift his head from where it is tucked against Dean’s neck though.

“Well, would it be terribly wrong of me to like what you’ve said?”

He would laugh at Sam’s expression, but the lips on his make it kinda hard to do anything but kissing back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is more shaken from the almost sexual assault than he let on at first and nightmares are tormenting him.  
> Dean knows a way to calm him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the sexy times I aimed for. I'm not really satisfied with how it turned out but welp. I hope you like it anyway. If not, I'm sorry. This story is like an accident, I still try to figure things out. I'm bad.

Dean expected to hear that the story of what has happened in the laundry room has spread like wildfire, but no one looks at them differently except Mike and his little gang.

 _Good_.

He is glad that they probably won’t harass him for the foreseeable future. It’s just, he can’t help but worry. What has happened was a close call, and it’s not like he is unaffected by it, but Sam is the one truly shaken. He is keeping an eye on Dean all the time and his shoulders tense as soon as someone approaches Dean.

Not to mention the nightmares.

It always started with Sam tossing and turning, proceeded by whimpering sounds Dean is unable to bear for more than five minutes. He ends up curled around Sam most nights, shushing him softly. Carding his hands through the long messy strands does wonders to help Sam out of them without even waking him.

This night is different. No amount of whispered assurances or petting ends the nightly terror Sam is enduring, so Dean decides to shake him awake. The sleep he would get wouldn’t be restful anyway.

Sam wakes with a start, Dean’s name on his lips. It’s painful to watch and he wants to break Mike’s nose all over again.

“Shhh, Sammy. It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you. Everything’s gotta be okay.” Dean can’t help the words falling out of his mouth, it’s like a dam has broken. His hands are still stroking over tight-wound back muscles, only satisfied when they slowly start to loosen.

Sam’s ragged breathing gradually evens out and he presses closer to Dean with every inhale. Not even a leaf would fit between them and Dean doesn’t want it to. It feels too good to have Sam in his arms, safe and warm. Breathing wetly against his neck.

Without them consciously noticing, the atmosphere has changed. Comforting gestures are loaded with meaning, heartbeats unsteady for other reasons than fear. Petting becomes stroking, exploring. Pressing of bodies loses its innocence when arousal takes over the wheel.

Sam’s lips drag over the sensitive skin on his throat when he whispers “Tell me this is okay. Tell me you want this, Dean. Please.” Before Dean can comprehend what is happening, let alone think about something to say, Sam speaks up again. “Or tell me that you don’t, it’s okay, really. Whatever you want is fine with me, you gotta know this.”

And just like that, Dean knows exactly what he wants.

Their first kiss is a bit clumsy at first, the angle not the best with Sam’s head still tucked under Dean’s chin. But after some slight adjustments their lips glide easily together, a dance well-practiced and yet exciting and new. Tongues explore formerly unknown territory and when Dean bits down onto Sam’s bottom-lip a ragged moan breaks free and shatters the solemn silence between them.

Dean is giddy, and it shows when he shushes Sam playfully, aware enough to know they can’t be found out. Sam nods his assent, already dragging his freaking paws over Dean’s body like he owns it. He feels like he should get whiplash from the ways Sam changes from this sweet, caring and innocent looking puppy to a growling, possessive lover. His downstairs brain Sam likes to mock does like it a lot apparently, if the incessant poking into Sam’s leg is any indication.

Sam doesn’t fare any better, a thought that is calming somehow. He paws at Dean’s jumpsuit, who finds himself cursing the fugly thing with vengeance.

“Hey, hey, let me. Those things come with a manual.” They both undress hastily, but end up touching each other with hands and lips, and on one occasion noses, permanently. It takes longer than it should, but in the end they are both naked and their skin is littered with hickeys. Sam is leaking a steady stream of pre-come and his pulse is erratic underneath Dean’s palm. It occurs to him that for all he knows Sam has never had sex with another guy.

“Is this…are you, you know – have you ever?” he stutters out, taken aback by his own clumsiness. He’s used to act smooth and suave, not like a blushing, stuttering teenager with his first crush.

The fond look he gets for his troubles lessens the embarrassment. A bit.

“Yes, Dean. I have ever. Before…before, I was with some guys. College, y’know? Only, it’s been some time, so – be careful, okay?” From what Dean can make out in the dim light that shines through from the hallway, Sam blushes prettily at these words. As if he could ever intentionally hurt Sam.

Despite Sam’s bravado he can tell that the other man is nervous. Dean is not gifted with false modesty when it comes to his skills as a lover, and prides himself with always making sure his partners enjoy themselves as much as he does. He knows he can make it good for Sam, for both of them, but he still adjusts his plans slightly.

He reaches up to fumble underneath his mattress, only to come back with a small tube in his hands.

“How even?” Sam asks in wonder. Dean just smirks.

“It has its perks to be friendly with some of the guards. Makes them a bit less thorough with their checks in here.”

It takes him a bit to figure out the expression on Sam’s face, but when he does he’s not sure how to react to the question he sees there. Not when it is framed with something else he can’t quite put his finger on. Still, something about Sam makes him want to be honest, so he goes with his gut on this one.

“Only a few times. He’s an okay guy, fair and not unnecessarily violent. And I figured it could come in handy to have someone who’s well-meaning towards me.” What he doesn’t say is that he had hoped it would help him escape, back before resignation had weighted him down. But he feels like it would be a good idea to revisit those plans, just with a little (tall and broad) addition.

Sam nods. “I figured you didn’t live like a monk. Was just surprised I guess. So, how about it cowboy? Show me some of your moves?” Said with a cheesy leer, complete with waggling eyebrows. Something clenches in his chest even as he snorts undignified.

Where had this guy been all those years when Dean hadn’t been damaged good?

Instead of answering he simply uncaps the bottle and pours a generous amount of the cool gel on his fingers. It’s been a bit since he last had something in his ass, not even his fingers, so he decides to be better safe than sorry. But he remembers the feeling of it, the fullness, the hot drag of hard flash inside of you, the electric jolt of pleasure that runs up your spine when the angle is just right. He can’t wait to feel this again.

Sam spreads his legs, a clear invitation that tempts Dean to just aboard all plans and _take_. He doesn’t. He bends forward and presses a sweet kiss to Sam’s lips the same moment the first of his fingers breaches his hole. The gasp is slipping from his lips between Sam’s, who needs a moment to understand what’s happening. The moan that wrenches from his throat when he does is enough encouragement for Dean to add a second finger right away. The burning is undeniable there, but it’s not so bad. He lets himself be distracted by a clever tongue and skilled hands. All too soon he is rocking back on three fingers, desperate little sounds coming from him. He tries to be silent, and wills Sam to do the same, but it’s so hard. Pun intended.

They kiss to eat each other’s sounds and it’s the best solution they got, so Dean feels no regret when he bites into Sam’s bottom lip as soon as the thick cock breaches him. He would have shouted otherwise, he is sure of it. That’s the moment he swears to himself that he’ll get them out and then they will be as loud as they want. For hours.

Dean sinks down slowly, angle a bit awkward with the little space there is between their beds, but it works. They work. Every inch is delicious torture, the burn a welcome thing or he would shot right there, without a hand on him. It’s been way too long since he felt this. And Sam is well-endowed, longer than average but still thick. His dick is veiny and slightly bent, so that the head is pressed snugly against his insides, sure to stroke over his prostate with every drag. This show will be over way too soon.

Sam’s body seems to agree if the shaking limbs and tight fists are any indication. They stop kissing when Dean is fully settled in Sam’s lap and just look at each other. Both their breathing is ragged, like they just ran a marathon and Sam’s eyes are so dark they’re almost black. For a crazy moment he wants to say _Christo_ , but the thought leaves him as fast as it came.

Big hands settle in his thighs, warm and moist from sweat, not urging him on, just anchoring him. It’s a soothing gesture, made almost unconsciously, and all the sweeter for it. He slides up on the hard flesh, enjoying every change of expression on Sam’s face until the head nearly slips from him. It’s obvious in the unhappy whine that he should move back down, and he’s happy to obey.

Dean sets a steady pace, slow but deep, with little breaks where he just swivels his hips, contracting his inner muscles to really feel all of Sam. He can tell how close the other man is by how hard he is pressing his fingers into Dean’s skin and the thought of being bruised, marked is enough to push him over the edge with a muffled scream. He is free falling, a sea of pleasure swallowing him and Sam the only thing holding him up. He quivers and shakes, body pliant when the other man starts moving him up and down on his cock like he weights nothing at all. That alone is enough to make his cock twitch in a vain attempt to harden again.

When the thrusts starts getting erratic, short little stabs, he silences Sam’s heavy groan with his tongue, sure most of the adjacent inmates already know what exactly they’re doing. He is strangely okay with that.

Sam has sunken back onto the bag as a boneless sack, sated and happy looking. The smile he’s wearing is the most real Dean has ever seen on his face and he can’t help but grin back sappily. He winces a bit when Sam slips free, a wet sound that makes him blush again for no apparent reason. Dean knows the other man is not happy about it but they need to clean up and he needs to get back into his own bed, no matter how badly he wants to stay. If they find them spooning the next morning the time of shared quarters will end faster than Dean can say _Son of bitch_.

He just closed the zipper of his jumpsuit when a hand closes around his wrist, silently tugging until he bends down to Sam. Who is still smiling at him, eyes bright in the dim light of the hallway.

“Thank you, Dean.”

And then Sam places a soft, almost chaste kiss on his lips, such a stark contrast to the filthy mouthfucking they had done earlier that Dean can’t help but touch his lips in wonder.

A voice in his head whispers about the dangers of attachment, how he will regret this later. And maybe it’s right, maybe he will. So many maybes, they could fill a life.

What he knows is that he falls asleep with a smile on his face. It’s the realest he felt since before his dad died.

What he knows is that Sam Wesson makes him happy. The rest they’ll figure out later.


End file.
